


Taste of Berries

by amusensical



Series: Carrying On [3]
Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Alone at Last, Canon Compliant, Carter finds all the best places, Episode 180, M/M, Meanwhile Back on the Bear, Missing Scene, Sex, Walking on a Bear, vulgarity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:54:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28676268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amusensical/pseuds/amusensical
Summary: After all that has happened, Barnes and Carter have some time alone.
Relationships: Commander James Barnes/Howard Carter (Rusty Quill Gaming)
Series: Carrying On [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2097552
Comments: 8
Kudos: 17





	Taste of Berries

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kristsune](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kristsune/gifts).



> A very happy birthday to [kristsune](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kristsune/pseuds/kristsune), captain of this ship.  
> Please note the rating.  
> These events follow [ Out of the Corner of His Eye](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28566651).

Warmth, as if it pours and fills, presses against his legs, presses all the way up to the warm breath against his throat. Warmth against his chest, all the way down to his hand. Carter’s hand is rubbing his where it grips the railing, just bringing the feeling back, just the awareness. Stroking up his arm, dipping underneath to hug him, press them even closer together. Carter’s sigh is that deep hum of satisfaction that touches Barnes no matter where he is, no matter how far he has drifted.

Carter leans into the space just above his collar, and Barnes knows the moment before it happens that he can’t flinch back fast enough, and Carter licks him, right where he is ticklish, licks at it again. Barnes can’t get away, his chin caught above Carter’s jaw and Carter’s hand pressed against the back of his shoulder. Barnes is helpless, gasps, feels Carter laughing against his throat, Carter has his other hand, and if he lets go they’ll fall. 

Carter licks at him again, and rocks back a little bit, enough, holds tighter so Barnes can only stand, gasping with shivering that is laughter and feeling is back in every part of him. This is the Carter he has known so long, the devil, who finally lets go of his off hand so he can grab his hair, move his maddening mouth, in a moment from tickling to smiling under his lips. 

They kiss, hard, then Barnes is truly laughing, and all the way back.

“Ya daft menace,” he says. “We’re on a bear, in the sky and you have to fucking tickle me.” 

“Mm hmm,” hums Carter, his face back in Barnes’ neck. “Every time. Well not every time, ‘cause then you’d know to watch out, yeah? Then where’s the fun?”

~

Carter steps back, one foot at a time so they can both adjust, since Barnes’ hand on the railing is the only sure thing keeping them balanced. One hand at a time they each let go of the other, then Barnes is rubbing the stiffness from his sword hand and Carter is already turning back toward the city.

“Tea time,” he says.

“At the inn?” asks Barnes. 

“No, not yet. I found a place. One more place to show you.” 

At the gate they stop and look back, over the bridge, into the sky. The mist is deeper to the right, to the east, rainbow threads coiling just within sight along the bear’s back. To the left, to the west, the sun is setting, light glancing off the snow.

Stepping out of the gatehouse, Carter heads right, along the western edge of the city, past the gigantic crane behind the bear’s shoulder, following the edge of the palisade. Within the city they can see along a street straight through to the central plaza, the round building. On the corner of that street they duck into a café, use the washroom, fill their water bottles. 

_Walking behind Carter through the city, Barnes recognizes his own desire, a looseness in his hips, warmth, low in his belly, as if it pours and fills._

Continuing along the edge, there’s another crane, attached to a dock like the one the ship is on on the other side. Buildings from here have larger doors and fewer balconies, windows dark at the end of the day. Carter takes a left between two buildings, then a right, off the palisade, onto a wooden path. In a matter of steps they are at one end of a long alley with greenhouses on each side. 

“Gardens,” says Carter. “I found the gardens.”

They walk between the first pair of greenhouses, the sunlight streaming through the glass making sparkles and shadows across the path. After the first greenhouse, Carter cuts back to the right, back toward the edge, opens the back door of the next greenhouse. He holds the door for Barnes, then steps in.

The warmth hits them, and the smell of growing things.

“Berries? I smell berries,” says Barnes, looking around the wide tables of plants, green and lush and vivid, like a dream or a fantasy. The last berries would have been Dover, before. 

“Just walk,” says Carter, putting a hand on Barnes’ back, not pushing exactly, then walks beside him. Barnes recognizes the bright hunger of Carter’s expression, and his vague desire begins to twist into an ache. About halfway down the smell is pungently sweet, berries thickly covering every plant. 

Carter does that thing where he stops, turning in the same moment, too quickly for Barnes to avoid bumping right into him, being stopped.

“Close your eyes. Stay right there.” 

Two footsteps away, rustling. The berry smell. Two steps back. Carter’s warmth. 

“Open your mouth.” Carter’s fingers against his lips. “More. It’s all right.” 

Barnes exhales the breath he was holding, opens his mouth, feels the berry on his tongue, catches Carter’s finger with his lips.

Crushing the berry in his mouth, letting the impossible taste just fill his mouth, half-sits against the nearest plant table. 

Carter whispers. “Oh, sailor, your face. Here, one more.” 

“Mm hmm.” Opens his mouth, feels Carter pressing against him, pressing the berry against his bottom lip, then inside. 

Carter pulls a cup from his pack, says, “Here, pick some. More when we get there.”

When the cup is full, Carter steps past Barnes and opens the door at the other end. 

~

Just outside the greenhouse is a smaller building, not glass. Carter looks around, bends to the doorknob. Barnes, from habit, steps to hide him from view and keep watch. When the door opens, they go through ready, like they always do. The single room is empty, the setting sun streaming through the window, filling the room with pink. Carter locks the door.

There’s a desk against one wall, and floor to ceiling shelves with packets and bags of seeds and roots. There’s a chair at the desk, a low sofa against the wall with a table beside it, a couple of big pillows, the type of huge soft shaggy rug they’ve seen all over the city.

Barnes sets the cup of berries on the low table, unbuckles his sword belt and lets it drop by the table. Carter sets down his pack, then just stands, looking at Barnes.

Barnes takes the three steps, takes Carter’s face in his hands, kisses. They haven’t been alone, haven’t been ready for this, not just since the crash, but since the wild magic. He feels the desire shift again, the heat of their mouths and the heat of his cock.

Carter holds his wrists, opens under his mouth, just lets him, just the softest humming moan as Barnes sucks at his bottom lip, dips into his mouth with his tongue, then deeper. He tastes of berries. Carter opens the buttons of the long coat, the heavy wool coat that he’s still wearing.

Hands cupped around Carter’s cheeks, Barnes rubs their foreheads together, kisses again.

Carter tugs at the coat. “Come sit,” he says, stepping back onto the rug and dropping down next to his pack. It takes Barnes an extra moment to get comfortable. 

“I brought some things,” Carter says, pulls things out of his pack, sets them on the table. He’s making a bit of a production, or stalling, or both.

A metal flask, another cup. He unscrews the cap, pours. Coffee, and something sharp in the steam.

He hands Barnes the filled cup, dumps the berries onto the table and fills that cup, raises his. “To the Ursans, and to the bear,” he says, touches his cup to Barnes’, drinks. It warms all the way down.

A cloth, tied around a lumpy bundle. Barnes unties the knots, opens the cloth. Scones, or very like. “I did say it was tea time,” Carter smiles. “No butter, sorry.” 

Barnes realizes he is _very_ hungry, breaks and eats first one (cinnamon) and then another (lemon). Finishes his coffee. Carter pours more, takes something else from his pack and sets it on the table.

Barnes feels gooseflesh prickle on his arms, takes an unsteady breath.

It’s a bottle, more of a jug, about the size of his fist. The cork stopper has a tether around it, a thin braided cord that Barnes made because the damn thing kept rolling away and the jug more often than not got knocked over and spilled oil everywhere. 

“Oh. You stunner.”

Barnes is completely, utterly aroused. He rocks forward, tips onto his knees then into Carter, one arm braced on the rug, the other around Carter, lifting him to stretch them both out on the rug, leaning in to capture his mouth in the same motion. Carter’s arms come up around his neck, and they are pressed together, all the way together. 

“Yeah,” Carter breathes into his neck, arching up under him, and he can only press more closely, moaning.

Barnes pushes up on his arms, feels Carter’s cock against his, hears Carter gulp a breath, stills. Maybe not too far gone yet, a chance, and then Carter’s cock throbs against him and he is gone. 

Sliding down, Carter so warm, kissing at his belly, Carter’s hands in his hair.

Just the buttons, pushing at his pants, finally half-kneeling and pulling, Carter pulling one leg free. 

Barnes unbuttons, pushes his pants down past his hips as he slides back up Carter’s body, hair-rough, so warm, bare. Pressed together, lying between Carter’s legs, their cocks trapped between them, belly to belly, The hitch of breath, his mouth at Carter’s throat, his jaw.

“Don’t move, fuck, Carter, please."

“S’ok.” 

Carter grips his shoulders, breathing hard, trembling under him.

“Oh. You,” says Barnes, leans down, brushes his lips over Carter’s mouth, and Carter rolls his hips, wrapping his free leg around the back of Barnes’ thighs.

“Uhng, ye menace.”

They are both moving, then, Barnes thrusting and sliding the length of his cock against Carter, Carter pulling hard against him at the top of each stroke, eyes closed, mouths open. Slick, so full, so warm.

_Faster, beyond it now, just the moving, and the living breathing pulse of it._

Their panting breath feels like chanting, then it is, chanting, _now_ , arching, _now_ , shuddering, rocking together against the slick, juttering muscles of belly and thigh. 

~

Barnes reaches back, pushes Carter’s leg out of the way, rolls off, trying to get his breath under control. One hand still under Carter, curved around the stem of his neck, feeling the points of his spine, the hollow at the base of his skull.

Barnes pulls his pants the rest of the way off, lies on his side next to Carter. 

“See what you did,” he says gently. 

“Not sorry.” 

“Any chance you have a towel in that pack?”

“Better.” Carter tugs his other hand free, then puts his hands together, twiddles his fingers together, flexes hands and fingers apart as if releasing something, whispers something on two notes. Something sparkles, and with a sweeping motion the mess is gone. 

“Huh. Did you get that from wherever you went?”

“Nah. Asked Wilde.” 

“Really. You asked Wilde.”

“Not this, specifically,” says Carter, sitting up and reaching for his water bottle. “Prestidigitation. He uses it to look pretty. Hamid, too.” 

Carter drinks, hands the bottle to Barnes, scoots up to lean against the sofa, kicking away his other pant leg.

Barnes sits up, drinks. Setting the bottle on the table he sees the oil jug, feels the tightening around his balls. 

He walks on his bare knees to sit next to Carter, shrugging off the long coat and throwing it over their outstretched legs. He puts his arm over Carter’s shoulders, who shifts to fit. Carter’s hand is on his chest, combing through the hair, then lower. They haven’t been alone in months, not really. The light has deepened from pink into lavender, a few stars already visible in the top of the sky. 

~

“What’s this?” says Carter. 

Carter’s fingers brush across the new scar, pause, explore. Barnes catches his breath, holds himself still. The sensation of the scar being touched is completely different from touching it himself. He can feel the touch all the way through to the other side, and can’t help the shiver that is an echo of remembered pain.

“Crash,” he says. 

Carter shifts from languid to alert, sits up, pushes away the coat and lifts Barnes’ shirt to look at the puckered circle above his right hip. 

“You were hurt?” 

“It’s healed now.” There’s no point trying to distract him from this. “It was a tree branch.” 

Carter reaches around, his fingers against the matching scar on his back triggering another shiver. “Oh fuck. It went through you?” 

“Yeh,” and that’s all he can say, Carter’s hand curled around his side, thumb rubbing the scar in the front, fingers against his back. Then Carter is sliding down, his warm mouth against the scar, and Barnes can’t be still as the shudder ripples out from that gored place. “Wait. Too much.” 

Carter nuzzles his face into Barnes’ belly. “Sorry.”

“All right. Just. I can feel it everywhere.” Barnes puts his hand on Carter’s head, smooths back the white hair from his forehead, smooths it around his ear, pets behind his ear, smiles as Carter presses into his fingers. Breathes past the memory of the blood there. 

~

“Hey. Come up here. And the berries.” 

Carter sits back up, grabs the small handful of berries from the table, lets Barnes arrange him to sit sideways between Barnes’ legs, his thighs over Barnes’ right thigh. Barnes' hand is under the coat, tucked into the groove below his hip, can feel him half-hard against his knuckles. 

Carter feeds him a berry. 

“My scars are gone.” He displays his hands, palm up, palm down, pulls up his sleeves. 

“All of them?” Barnes moves his hand under Carter’s shirt, gently circles his left nipple. It feels whole. There’s no groove between the last two ribs on that side, no roughness where the skin was burned, low, below his navel. 

“As far as I can tell,” says Carter, leaning into his touch, as if they’re not talking about some miracle. 

Barnes nuzzles into Carter’s neck, puts his hand back, nudges until Carter opens his legs. “Let me feel.” Barnes touches right up into the warmth between Carter’s legs, feels only skin, no constellation of pitted scars. 

Carter has gone limp against him. 

“Gone. Totally free of all that, now.” 

“You were already free. Berry.” 

“Yeah. Here. Last one.” 

Carter puts the last berry into Barnes’ mouth, rests his palm against his face, curls his fingers against his jaw and leans up until their lips meet, tasting of berry. Now both Carter’s hands are in his hair, and Barnes opens as Carter sucks at his bottom lip. Barnes pulls Carter’s thigh against his cock, rocks up against the pressure. 

“Feels good.”

“Mmm. More.” 

“Can you reach it?” 

Barnes feels the muscles in Carter’s thighs tense as he leans up, snags the little jar of oil from the table. 

“Give me your hand.” 

Barnes pulls his hand out. Carter, half-sitting, works the stopper out of the neck of the jar, holds Barnes’ hand in one of his, drips oil onto his fingers, rubs it around, adds more. 

_The oil on his fingers feels amazing, feels as if a thread is tightening, starting to draw him forward, or upward. The room has darkened to deep blue, cut with silver where the moon is just rising._

Carter stoppers the jug, sets it on the floor. Barnes hears the catch in his breathing as he leans back, leans back into Barnes’ arm around his shoulders, leans back and spreads his legs. 

Barnes reaches down, slides his hand up Carter’s thigh, fingers curled around the oil, then reaches, strokes behind his balls, pressing and sliding against his hole. Carter is already lost to it, his face pressed against Barnes’ chest.

Barnes spreads his legs wider, making room for Carter to move against his hand. He spreads Carter open with his hand, presses his middle finger against his hole, just holds there. Carter breathes in, a long inhale, then shifts and presses against Barnes’ finger, the breath going out of him in a rush as Barnes breaches him, presses in.

“That’s it, take it, just like that,” Barnes rumbles, presses further, one knuckle, two, feels Carter’s long inhale and the flex of his ass as he spreads his legs. Moving his finger out, then pressing in, and Carter’s breaths turn into humming whimpers. 

He pulls his finger out, then slides two fingers against the opening that is already wet, soft, pressing against his hand as Carter rolls his hips. 

“Good?” 

“Yeah, good,” says Carter. “More.”

Barnes works two fingers in, pressing all the way in, stroking against Carter’s slow thrusts. Carter is laid out in Barnes’ lap, his head thrown back. 

“Look at you,” Barnes says. “So good, feels so good the way you open for me.” He leans down, kisses Carter’s open mouth, and it is as if some vital circle has been closed, Carter writhing around his fingers and a spike of heat blossoming around his cock. 

Barnes kisses down Carter’s jaw, against his throat, into the hollow above his collarbone, lifting him backwards with his thigh and the arm around his shoulders, fingers all the way in him, then fingers all the way out, a growling whisper. 

“C’mon now, kneel up.” 

Carter pulls his legs in, gets them under him, kneels, panting. Barnes keeps a hand on his back, under his shirt, thumb rubbing against his spine, as far up as he can reach, all the way down to the knob of his tailbone into the cleft of his ass. 

Barnes finds the little jug, opens it one handed and tips oil onto his cock, can’t help the low moan when he strokes along his full length. He makes sure the stopper is in, shifts around until he is knelt behind Carter, grips his hips and moves forward to press all the way against his back.

He presses the head of his cock against Carter’s hole, slick with oil and his own wet, letting Carter sink back against him, both of them gasping as he is in. 

Barnes wraps his arms around Carter, holds him steady, thrusts slowly, deeper each time, until he is fully in him, surrounded, held. He kisses along the top of Carter’s shoulder, then reaches down with his left hand to hold Carter’s cock, fucks Carter’s cock into his hand with each thrust.. 

Barnes feels Carter start to go, keeps his steady rhythm as Carter clenches around him, thrashes in his arms, his low keening moan vibrating through them both, then Barnes’ rough gasp in counterpoint as he thrusts one time, _one more time_ , his hand pressed against Carter’s heartbeat. 

Barnes sinks back, pulls Carter back, still inside him, still breathing hard, face pressed against his back. They rest that way, folded together, knelt in the moonlight.

~

They disentangle, stretch. Carter does his new trick to clean them up. They pull on pants, and Carter packs up. Barnes hands him the little jug, pushing down on the stopper as he hands it over. They lock the door behind them. 

Carter leads, not the way they came but across, through the rows of greenhouses until they come to the dock where they arrived, following the edge of the palisade to complete their journey around the bear. They are both quiet, both smiling, all the way through the dark city, warm light from the windows making the ground mist glow. 


End file.
